Live
by NyanWolfy
Summary: "You need to live. That's my last order to you, for now. Live. Even if you have to struggle and suffer – do everything in your power to stay alive until I find a way to get you back. You've been the most successful experiment so far, and I don't need you falling into the wrong hands. So live and wait. I'll get you again some day." OC story revolving around the Whitebeard Pirates
1. Living Through Captivity

**Okay, so I'm sure most of you will find this story from my other one, "Through a Canine's Eyes". I only started this story a few months ago because I was bored, and up until now, I had it posted on another account because I wasn't sure how far I'd get with it. I decided to finally post it to my main account. I'm not even sure I'll post more chapters for it, because most of my writing time is taken up by Through a Canine's Eyes. I really only started it to practice and expand my writing to help me with Through a Canine's Eyes, so I decided to share it with you guys.**

**And don't worry, I won't give up Through a Canine's Eyes for this story. That story will always come first. This is just practice and for fun.**

* * *

'_You need to live. That's my last order to you, for now. Live. Even if you have to struggle and suffer – do everything in your power to stay alive until I find a way to get you back. You've been the most successful experiment so far, and I don't need you falling into the wrong hands. So live and wait. I'll get you again some day,_' said the eerily familiar voice in her head. Her consciousness started to surface with those words echoing around. Dreams were one of the only things she couldn't control – a time when old memories like that had a bad habit of surfacing. She hadn't forgotten those orders of course, but the skills and talents that she had been given and trained to posses were not much help in the normal social world. That was one of the main reasons that she was in the position she was in.

She was sitting with her back against a wooden wall, her legs sprawled out in front of her. Her wrists and arms ached dreadfully due to the fact that they were suspended above her head, the chains keeping her from lowering them to relieve some of the discomfort. It wasn't just her arms that ached, her whole body was protesting from sitting idly for so long.

'_You've just woken up, so don't forgot to stretch your limbs as much as possible to get the blood running through properly_,' the ever-logical part of her mind prodded her. Without question she started to clench her fingers and toes, and slowly worked her way along all of her limbs, clenching the muscles, relaxing them and repeating it as pins and needles started to develop.

How long had she been here now? At first she had tried to keep track of the time, but when one couldn't keep track of the rising and the falling of the sun, time was hard to tell. Never the less, it had been too long. She couldn't keep living like this. Her body wouldn't support it. The meager meals they supplied her with were not enough to support her body. Her captors were obviously clueless to the nutrition that a body need. It could be supported off of small meals, but only if all the right proteins, fiber, fats and carbohydrates were included in that diet. An irregular scrap of bread was nowhere near enough. And the constant draining feeling from the seastone in the cuffs didn't help in the least.

She heard footsteps trailing across the deck above her head, not an unusual sound considering the crew manned the ship almost 24/7. At the moment though, as far as she could tell from the lack of swaying and rocking from the boat, they must have been docked. Most likely this would be at an island. She'd probably slept through the arrival. Not that being awake would have benefited her at all.

"Quick!" a voice that she recognized as the captain's roared out on the above deck. He sounded flustered. "Waste no time! Get ready to sail! If you, _we_, want this plan to work, we need to start moving now!"

"Ay, Cap'n!" a few voices responded, and she couldn't miss the tremor of anxiety and excitement in their voices. Something must be happening.

More feet scrambled all over the deck, an all too familiar rhythm. Normally she would have ignored it, but for the first time since she'd been on this ship, something big was happening. And she didn't know what it was.

The door to the lower room smashed open so suddenly, and with so much force, that she jumped. She was down a sense thanks to the seastone cuffs, leaving her more on edge than normal. She only had her senses of sound, touch, taste and smell to rely on, meaning that in this situation she was already at the disadvantage. Not to mention the fact that she was restrained, her movements limited.

There was a lot of grunting coming from two men as they hauled something down the stairs and into the same room as her. She kept silent, and listened cautiously, trying to analyze the situation. When the men reached the bottom of the stairs, they dropped something on the wooden floor boards not too far from her feet, she drew them back towards herself, pulling her knees up to chest.

"What the hell does that guy eat?" one of the two panted.

"Doesn't concern us. So long as this plan works, our captain's name will be spoken around the whole world! He may even become a yonko. We'll be feared and recognized across all four seas!" the other laughed. "Should we chain him up to the wall like that bitch?"

"Nah, it'd take too much time. He's out of it for now, and he's wrapped in chains. I can't see him escaping anytime soon," the other answered.

Her mind was spinning, trying to piece together everything so that she could understand the situation. They'd just brought in another captive, most likely obtained from the island they'd docked at. They were in a rush to leave, and they were discussing about their captain becoming a yonko. The only way to become a yonko was to beat one of the current ones. None of the current yonko were anything to dismiss easily either, so if they were about to take on a yonko, she was about to be placed in a very dangerous position.

"Oi," one of the voices snapped as they walked the short few steps across the room, looming over her. A grubby hand reached down, grabbing either side of her face, gripping it roughly and forcing her face up towards his own. Her long, shaggy, black hair slipped away from her face, but her eyes didn't meet his thanks to the bandages wrapped around them – bandages that very rarely came off. "You might finally be of some use. All that effort we put into catching you might pay off."

"…Will I be expected to fight?" she croaked, her throat dry from dehydration. She swallowed, trying, in vain, to moisten her throat. The main purpose of the question was to get more information from the goons so that she could make a plan. She needed to live, and fighting a yonko didn't seem like the safest activity to undertake.

He snorted and replied, "Of course you will. We didn't go to all that trouble to get you for nothing. You've been trained as a weapon, have you not? You're just what we need when in case we run into trouble with out plan."

Run into trouble? So the plan was avoid conflict, but still achieve the status of yonko? A trap? Maybe the new captive was bait, and that's why they had to leave so urgently. She was pleased to finally be collecting some information.

"In my current physical condition, I shall not be much use in a fight. My body is struggling to support itself on the diet that I've been supplied and my muscles are weak from not being used." The hand released her face. "If you expected me to fight, then shouldn't you have bee –" A flat palm connected with the side of her face, snapping her head to the side as the sound rung throughout her ears.

"Don't you dare talk to me like that, you scum! You should be thankful that we're even feeding you!" the man snapped, a particle of spit landing on her cheek from the force of the yelling.

She couldn't understand why she'd been hit for saying that. She had not made a direct offensive remark at him, or his family, and yet he'd taken offence to it and slapped her. It was not a logical reaction in the slightest. People like him and his crewmates are why she found it to so hard to survive on her own. They didn't react like they should when she thought logically about it. They always seemed unpredictable. She didn't like it because she didn't understand it.

"Ungrateful little wench," the other man grumbled. "This is why I hate women."

"Sygnot, you're too ugly to ever get a woman. That's why you hate them," the other laughed.

"Shut up!" he snarled and stormed up the stairs and out of the room.

The remaining man chuckled to himself as he stepped away from her and walked towards the stairs. He paused right before he stepped onto the staircase, saying, "Girl, just remember that you are ours now. You'll do what we want if you value your life." He then walked up the stairs, slamming the door closed.

'_If I want to live, huh_?' she thought to herself, letting her head drop back against the wood. The ship started to rock more violently, meaning that they'd left the island. '_Living sounds simple when you say the word, but why is it so difficult?_'

* * *

"Urgh, what the hell was in the drink?" a voice slurred, his words slow and groggy.

"I'd imagine that it was some sort of fast acting sedative," she replied dryly. "Are you feeling dizzy?"

"Well, the ground feels like it is moving under me. Does that count?"

"No, I feel that too. It's just the waves rocking the boat."

"Oh."

She released a deep breath, sighing as she counted to three in her head. People like him were so predictable. '_1…2…3…_'

"Wait! Ship!" he cried and she listened as he tried to jump up, only to trip and slam back down onto the wooden decking. The sound of flesh hitting wood and a muted cry of pain resounded around the room. "Ow… My head."

"You may be conscious right now, but the sedative probably hasn't worn off fully yet. Moving around is not recommended as you will feel dizzy, and your limbs will be weak," she said, resting her chin on her knees. "You'll only injure yourself more by moving."

"Yep… No… I've got that now," he said and she heard him wriggling slightly – probably shifting into a comfortable position.

"And you are?" he questioned. "Judging by the fact that you're chained to the wall, I'm guessing you aren't part of this crew."

"You're taking this whole situation very calmly," she responded, weary about giving out information on herself before she knew more about him.

"I've been in worse situations," he laughed. "As soon as this sedative has worn off, I'm getting off of this ship. I'm already going to get teased by the other guys because I got captured, no need to make it worse."

"The other guys?"

"My crew mates."

"Pirate?"

"Yep."

"Your captain is a yonko?"

"Yep. The best. Whitebeard."

"Oh." She couldn't figure out if the guy she was talking to was an idiot or just very confident. He was happily giving her as much information as she wanted without demanding anything in return. Was it a trap? Was he planning something? Was he trying to lure her into a false sense of security? Did he only want her to believe that he was an idiot?

"And you?" he asked again.

"I'm… I'm not really sure what I am. I would call myself a captive, but from what I've heard, the captain plans to use me to fight for him. I'm not sure how he plans to do that," she said.

"Want to break out of here with me?" he asked, and she could almost hear the smirk in his voice.

Break out of here? Sure, she had no reason to stay. But would it really be that easy? Maybe it would. She'd heard of Whitebeard's reputation. He wouldn't let anyone hurt his crew. Doubtlessly he was coming to retrieve the man she was sharing a room with. She has a better chance by sticking with him rather than teaming up with the current crew that had her chained and locked up.

"Sure."

"Great! So what's the plan?"

"Wait, you don't have one?"

"No," he laughed.

"…"

"…Wait, you don't have a plan either, do you?"

"Not at the moment. If I did, I would have escaped a long time ago."

"…I see."

She started to put all the pieces together in her mind. A plan. She needed one. There was no way she'd trust the other guy to make one. She needed more information for a full analysis though. "What do you currently have on your person?"

"Other than my charming personality?"

"…"

"My dashing sense of humor?"

"…"

"…Right about now is where you are meant to start laughing."

"Oh. That was a… joke?" she questioned, finally starting to understand. She was under the impression that he was being serious. Normally people wouldn't be joking in the situation that they were in.

"Yep," he replied, sounding confused by her reaction.

"I have an inability to understand jokes. My apologies."

"An inability to understand jokes? You're a weird one, aren't you?" he replied.

"If by weird, you mean that I'm odd or unusual, then you'd be correct," she replied in a serious tone.

"…Right. I'll make a note of that," he said. "Well, I had my two swords on me, but it seems that they've taken that off of me."

"I would assume so."

"Which leaves me with… pretty much nothing," he laughed, not seeming all that bothered by it.

"If these cuffs were removed from my wrist, I'd be able to get us out of here," she pointed out. "But they're made of seastone, and impossible to break. There is one pair of keys, but from what I've learnt, the captain has the only set."

"Seastone? You're a Devil Fruit user?" he sounded rather interested by the possibility.

"I am," she replied cautiously, refusing to say more than that. Silence echoed for a few seconds.

"You're the secretive type, huh? That's okay. I understand," he replied in an honest manner.

"Give me some time and I shall run through a few simulations using what information I have so far," she replied, curling her toes absentmindedly. There were so many things that could change the outcome of any possible scenario at the moment. Too many variables that she didn't have enough information to be able decrease.

"Okay," he replied, staying quiet for a few seconds. "…Need any help with that?"

"Silence would be lovely."

"Oh."

* * *

"Someone's coming," she said, breaking the silence in the room.

"Really? How do you know?" he asked.

"I can hear them," she replied, lifting her head off of her knees. "Remember what I said before. The plan."

"I don't hear anything. You must have really good hearing." She listened as he shuffled around on the floor.

"I do," she confirmed as the door to the room clicked open. The sound of footsteps tapped against the wood as someone made their way down into the room with them. The two captives were silent.

"Good to see you're both still alive," a voice said, and she knew straight away it was the captain. She'd assumed that he'd come to visit sooner or later. One factor in her plan was already being set up. It was time to set the board. "Been getting acquainted, have we?"

"We were just discussing how stupid what you're doing is," she responded, hoping to hit a nerve in one go. Let him think he has the upper hand and he'll get cocky. She was baiting him. She just had to see if he took the bait.

"What?" he snarled, turning on her and striding her way. She heard him as he made his way across the room and she didn't move an inch.

"Your plan. Are you sure you've considered your plan of action enough? I can spot a few potential problems already," she responded.

"And what the hell would someone like you know?" he snapped, reaching forward and grabbing a handful of her hair. He forced her head back so that her face was looking at him. She was aware that men seemed to get a sense of power from forcing people to look at them, but while she had her bandage on, her eyes couldn't meet his anyway. It made no difference to her. It only made them feel more secure and powerful. It was just an ego boost. This could, and would, work to her advantage. So long as the other guy kept silent like she'd requested him to when she'd told him her plan.

"You plan to win a place as a yonko by challenging Whitebeard," she pointed out, and she heard her fellow captive tensed, the chains around his stomach rattling. She'd forgotten to mention that, but she thought he'd been able to figure that much out for himself… "The man that you've brought here, you're trying to lure Whitebeard and his crew into trap, aren't you? You plan to defeat him that way."

The captain's teeth ground together, and she knew that she'd hit the nail right on the head. She didn't like to make assumptions, but they seemed to be correct this time.

"I was told you were a tricky one, but I didn't imagine this. Do you know what happens to nosey people on a pirate ship?" he taunted.

"I'm not aware, no," she replied calmly.

"Are you trying to be funny?"

"I don't understand humor."

"Tch. Listen, girl. You work for me now. As soon as you prove yourself loyal, I'll let you out of here. Do you want to get out of here?" he asked, bracing one hand on the wall as he loomed over her.

"That question… Is it in relation to the topic of conversation right before the question was asked, or is it just a simple question, with no prior involvement to anything else?" she replied, trying to buy as much time as she could. The plan was working so far.

"…What?" both men in the room asked at the same time.

"Is that questi–" she started to repeat herself.

"Forget the damn question!" he yelled, losing his temper. His grip on her hair tightened and pulled her head back even further. She could smell his breath as he leaned even closer to her face. "Listen to me. I'm not an idiot. Right about now Whitebeard will be getting word that I have one of his commanders. He will also be told where we'll be. He'll come after us, and we'll have a trap waiting for him. We're heading to an island that has high cliffs all around the outside – cliffs that no human will be able scale. Not even Whitebeard. There is only one way in and out of this island, and there are only a select few that know it. I'm one. Once Whitebeard arrives at the island, he will be met by a barrage of attacks coming from the top of the cliffs, and he won't be able to do a thing about it!"

"Do you think I'll really let that happen!" the man in chains yelled and started struggling against them. She heard the chains clanking and the captain let go of the hair, his footsteps making their way over to the member of Whitebeard's crew.

'_Well, he managed to hold his tongue for long enough at least,_' she thought to herself.

"Just try and stop me!" She heard something connect with flesh, a grunt coming from the other captive as he was thrown back against the ground. The girl guessed that it was probably a foot.

"Both of you are my captives right, understand? Your lives are mine, and I could kill you any second. You should be begging for your lives right now!" He stomped up the stairs and threw the door closed behind him, leaving them in silence.

"That bastard," the man grumbled under his breath. "Did you plan work?"

"Yep," she replied, lifting up her foot and showing off the pair of keys that was hanging off her toes. "He never even noticed."

"…Perfect."


	2. Living Through an Escape

Using her feet carefully and awkwardly, the girl inserted the keys into the cuffs and turned them, creating a most satisfying clicking sound. The cuffs sprung open, and her arms dropped to the side as her brain was suddenly slammed with an overload of information all at once. She slumped to the ground, her hands reaching up to grasp either side of her head as she made a sound of pain.

"Oi, are you okay there?" the other guy asked, trying to scoot along the ground so that he could reach her. "Hey! Can you hear me?"

She couldn't. Everything was such a mess in her head that nothing made sense for a few moments. There was no sound; no feeling; no up or down; no sense of self. There was only confusion and pain and her brain tried to adjust. Slowly everything slipped back into place, a headache throbbing at the base of her neck. It'd been too long since she was allowed to use her powers. Her brain started to map out the ship, and who and what was on it.

"I'm fine," she panted, pushing herself back up into a sitting position. "Don't be too loud or they'll know something is up." The room swayed for a moment as her newly added sense spread cautiously out, testing and prodding her surroundings. For the first time she also got a good look at her follow captive.

The first thing she noticed was the ridiculous hairdo of the guy in front of her. She was aware that some birds and animals styled their plumage and fur in a display to attract females, but she was sure that trait didn't carry through to humans. His hair came right out in front of his face before folding over on top of itself, creating a pompadour. Underneath the several layers of chains that were wrapped around his middle and legs was a uniform and a bandanna, similar to what chefs wore. A crescent scar ran along one side of his face and a goatee graced his chin.

"Sorry. But are you sure you're okay? What was that?" he asked, frowning.

"…Nothing. There should be a key for your chains on here as well," she said, crawling on her hands and knees over to his back. She paused for a few seconds, analyzing the inside of the shape of the lock, and the keys on the ring before she picked out the one she knew was right, inserting it and unlocking it. The chains slipped off of him and onto the ground as he stood up, arching his back and stretching his arms.

"Ah, that feels so much better. My arms were getting really cramped," he sighed in relief.

"…Really?" she replied dryly, trying to figure out if this was another of his jokes or not.

"Right! Time to kick some ass!" he declared, walking towards the stairs.

"Wait!" she protested, jumping up and stumbling forward, grabbing onto the back of his shirt to stabilize herself and to stop him. "You don't even have your weapons."

"Well, do you know where they are?" he asked as she straightened herself up, carefully stretching her legs. Thanks to the exercises she'd been doing, her condition hadn't wasted away enough to stop her from being able to fight for a short period of time. However, she would tire quickly, and she wouldn't be at full strength.

She paused for a few seconds before replying, "Yes, I do. In the storeroom. They're propped up against a cupboard in the room next to this one."

"I thought not, s– Wait. What? Really?" he spluttered, surprise flashing across his face.

"Yes. I avoid lying wherever possible."

"How'd you know that? You haven't left this room since I arrived have you?" he asked.

She was silent, considering if she should tell him or not. Now that he was free, and she was too, she didn't really need his help to escape. As soon as she was outside, she could ditch the ship. She had told him that she'd help him escape though, and her body was already weak. There was no guarantee that she'd make it back to land before passing out, and she'd drown in the sea. She had more chance of survival with him. "…Devil Fruit powers."

"The longer I know you, the more intriguing you get, you know that?" he laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, if you don't want to tell me anything, you don't have to, okay? Let's just help each other get out of here, what do you say?"

"I think that it would be beneficial to both our causes if we assisted each other in our escape," she agreed, nodding her head. "Both our weapons are next door, and there is no one in the hallway outside, nor in the next room. There is, however, several members of the crew in the kitchen which is the last door on the right at the hall."

"How do you… Right, sorry, no questions. I'll just have to trust you on this one," he said, flashing her a bright smile. "You're handy to have around."

She didn't reply and instead walked, barefoot, up the stairs to the door, ignoring the burning in her legs. Gently she opened the door, wondering in the back of her mind why they didn't lock it. Did they really underestimate them that much? She double checked the position of all the crew members, making sure none were heading their way before she walked out and over to the room next door, her new companion following behind her. As soon as they entered what seemed like a storeroom, he made a b-line straight for the swords that she guessed were his. She had only guessed, seeing that she'd never encountered his weapons before. But, seeing as they were in the same room as her weapons, and were leaning against the cupboard that they hers were, it seemed like a pretty good guess.

While he attached the swords back onto his hips, she walked up to the cupboard, opening it and pulling out her pouch of weapons. She didn't have to open it to know that they were all there. She strapped the pouch to her right thigh before pulling out her two small daggers, slipping them up the sleeves of her short kimono. The bottom of the kimono was around the top of her thighs, but the sleeves were still full length and droopy. It was a plain design, black with a slim ring of white around the bottom and the edge of the sleeves. She had no way of knowing what the actual colors were, but the lady she'd purchased it from had described it to her and promised her that it looked like that. Her "vision" enabled her to see great details, down to the tiny hairs that made the thread of her clothing. She could tell that there were two different dyes used on it due to the different width of the threads, but that didn't give her enough information to be able to decipher the colors. It was like that for other outfits that people were wearing too.

"The smartest thing now would be to break out onto the deck and run. Once we're in the open, on the deck, I can get us both away from the ship," she declared, closing the doors to the cupboard.

"How do you plan to get away from the boat?" he asked curiously, moving around the room and rummaging around the other containers in the room.

"I can… I fly," she replied cautiously, waiting for him. "Devil Fruit, remember? I can probably carry you with me. But one is my limit for long distances."

"That's oddly convenient. I'm guessing it also has something to do with the fact that you can see through walls even though your eyes are covered in bandages. But as I said before, you don't have to answer me," he said, still grinning. He was oddly cheerful considering the situation.

For this whole plan to work, he needed to trust her, and the only way to get his full trust was to tell him about her Devil Fruit powers. She didn't like the idea a lot, but it didn't seem like she had much choice.

"I have the powers of a Zoan Devil Fruit. It's a bat fruit, model: vampire bat. Using echolocation I can easily see everything, within a certain radius, that is happening at any one point in time. I can't see the colors, but I can see shapes, density and outlines," she explained. Although she was telling the truth, she was purposely omitting a few details, such as the fact that her actual eyes were blind and useless. Also her Devil Fruit came with a few other bonuses, but none of that was relevant to him right now.

"A bat? That's pretty handy. Seeing as you've got us this far, how do you plan to get us out?" he asked as he continued to move around the room.

"So long as we get onto the deck, I can change form out there. You'll need to jump onto my back–" he tried to keep a straight face, but a snicker slipped out "–and then we can go. On the deck at the moment is only someone steering, and someone in the crow's nest. The majority of the men are in some sort of dining and meeting hall. I'd imagine they're going over plans with their captain right now. Any rebuttals?" she said, walking forward and placing her hand on the door handle.

"I don't exactly want to leave before getting them back for dragging me here," he argued, frowning for once as he walked over towards her.

"Look," she said, keeping her back facing him, "if you want to start a fight with this crew, then you may. But I won't be helping. I want to stay alive. I'm leaving. The captain may not be the most intelligent man, but that does not mean he isn't strong. In my current physical condition, I would probably not win in a fight against the captain. It would be hard enough even if I was at full strength. Not to mention the fact that there are also some powerful men in this crew. And to have drugged you and brought you here, there is obviously someone well versed in medicines or poisons. Sedatives, incorrectly administered, can easily cause death. When I brought here, I was also drugged, and the sedatives were slightly off. They gave me too much, and I spent three days vomiting non-stop. It's not surprising that they miscalculated the dosage considering they knocked me out with a gas rather than something in a drink. There's nothing stopping them from using another gas to knock us out. I would rather avoid that possibility. Would you also risk the lives of your crewmates, because if we're caught again, they will be lured into the trap. Would it not be better for you to make it back to them, so you can inform them?"

"You got knocked out and brought here too?" he asked.

"I did. It was a foolish mistake, and it got me in this position," she replied, wondering if that was really the only thing he picked up on, considering how long her lecture was. "What will you do?"

"It's as you said, I guess," he admitted, laughing and rubbing the back of his neck again. "I'm better off getting out of here and getting back to my crew. I don't like it, but I don't want to be the reason any of my crew mates get hurt."

"Good. Thank you," she said. "Once we leave this room, we will turn to the right, and walk down to the end of the hall. At the end of the hall is another staircase. That will take us up to a door that leads to the deck. Once that door is opened, and we proceed onto the deck, we only have a few seconds to make it to the edge of the ship and jump. To give me enough time to transform, I need to jump at least a second before you. Considering the differences in our sizes, and the knowledge of my own capabilities, it won't be that hard. I will probably reach the railing before you. It will be too hard for me to retrieve you from the water, so make sure you don't jump before me, okay?"

"…I can't figure out if you're purposely being rude, or if that's just the way you are," he said in good humor.

"Am I offending you? That was not my intention… I apologize if I said something offensive to you. I… I'm bad at communicating with people," she mumbled.

"Thatch."

"Pardon?"

"My name. I'm Thatch. Pleasure to meet you."

She didn't need to turn around to see the smile on his face. His heartbeat remained steady as well, meaning that he was completely honest in what he was saying. He was actually happy about being acquainted to her. He must have been truly foolish to feel like that about someone he had just met; especially someone like her. "I'll keep that in mind," she replied.

"Talking about bad communication with people, generally someone would respond by giving their name in reply," Thatch pointed out, although it was a jesting manner.

"If by name you mean the word appointed to someone after birth, resulting in easier communication, and clearer ownership in the possessive term, then I was never given a name. I had no need. I have, however, been labeled, temporarily, by different terms and aliases. Although, once the use of those terms passed, they were no longer beneficial to me and I abandoned them," she replied, releasing the door handle, and turning back around so that she could lean against the door.

"You can't not have a name!" he protested.

"Seeing as I cannot deny the usefulness of aliases, you're a free to give one to me. So long as I know what it is, I will responded to it just like one would their own name," she said, crossing her arms. "Should we really be discussing this now? Shouldn't we be worrying about escaping?"

"No, not an aliases."

"Pardon?"

"You need a name."

"Need?" At what point did a name become something that she needed. She'd managed to live her life without one so far. Was there a stage in life during which names became critical? She'd never been told that before. She'd noticed that she hadn't been told or taught a lot of things so trusting her previous knowledge was not always wise.

"Yes, need. Names aren't always–"

"Is this _really_ a good time?"

"–given to people by parents. Some people pick their own names. They even change them as they please. You can make your own name, and it would still be the same as everyone else."

"How can something governed by such flimsy rules be considered critical?" she protested, getting more and more confused.

"It… just is," he replied, but she wasn't listening. Her attention was drawn by one of the chefs that had exited the kitchen, heading down the hall in their direction. "I–" She jumped forward, slamming her left hand over his mouth, her right making the universal sign for silence. He didn't attempt to talk again so she lowered her hand, and both of them stayed frozen like mice as the sound of footsteps became obvious, stopping just outside of the room they were in.

The door handle slowly turned, and the door swung inwards, the chef taking two steps sluggish steps into the room before freezing when he laid eyes on them. His whole body posture and mannerism showed that he was obviously tired and a little distracted. He was probably sidetracked, thinking about what his captain was currently trying to achieve. Thatch was the first react, asking, "Hey there, how can I help you?"

"I… I was just coming to see if we had any lemons…" the man stuttered, obviously confused. The way his eyes were crinkled, and the dilatation of his pupils led her to believe that he'd been awake for at least 24 hours straight. His heart wasn't beating fast enough for him to be scared or worried. He obviously hadn't registered the fact that the two captives were free.

"Oh, yeah, I think I saw some of them in a crate over in the corner," Thatch said, jerking his thumb in the direction of the right corner.

"T-Thanks," he replied, walking over to the corner that Thatch had directed him to. He sifted through a crate, digging out 4 lemons, cradling them against his chest as he walked lethargically back over to the door. "I'm sorry for interrupting." The door closed behind him as he walked out, leaving both of them in silence.

"…"

"…"

"Wait a minute!" came the cry from the other side of the door before it was thrown open again. "I forgot the onions!"

"Here, I'll grab them for you," Thatch replied, walking over to the same corner, digging through another crate. "How many did you need?"

"Two would be great, thank you," the chef replied, bringing his hand up to his mouth as he yawned.

"…" The girl just stood in the middle of the room in astonished silence.

Thatch pulled out two onions, and walked back over to the chef, handing them over. "You look like you're about to pass out. You should really try and get some sleep soon."

"Everyone's trying their hardest, so I need to do all I can to support them!" he declared, rubbing one of his eyes. "Keep up the good work, and I'll keep making great food!" he said, and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him again.

"…"

"Did that really work?" Thatch asked, walking back over to her side.

She carefully followed the chef's movements as he walked down the hallway, freezing halfway down it. His arms dropped to his sides, the lemons and onions clattering to the floor as his heartbeat suddenly spiked. "Prisoners on the loose! The prisoners have escaped!" he yelled, forgetting about the ingredients as he stumbled and ran towards the kitchen.

"No," she replied.

"I figured," Thatch replied. "Let's run for it?"

"Of course."


	3. Living Through a Meeting

They both wasted no more time, bolting for the door. The girl was the first one to reach it, throwing the door open without much care for how much sound it made. Her senses were keeping a close eye on what everyone else on the ship was doing, and from what she could tell, the shouting had yet to reach the room that the captain and the majority of the crew was in. The crewmembers that were in the kitchen stumbled out of the doorway that was at the end of the hall and started yelling and shouting.

"The prisoners have broken free!"

"Help! They're escaping!"

"Just run!" she demanded as Thatch swore under his breath and reached for his weapons. She wrapped her hand around his wrist, forcefully pulling him along as they bolted along the hallway, and up the stairs. Jumping the steps three at time, she threw her shoulder into the door, throwing it open as they stumbled out onto the deck. While that was happening, it didn't pass her attention that the captain and the rest of the crew had heard the commotion, and had started to make their way towards the deck from a room that was under the front deck of the ship. "Incoming!"

Thatch roughly grabbed the back of her kimono, throwing her behind him as she was forced to let go of his wrist. Just as he did, a large man – the one who had previously been steering the ship – landed on the deck in front of her, having jumped the railing. In his hands he wielded a large double side axe, his broad shoulders and muscled arms a testament to his mastery of that particular weapon. She was left to stand awkwardly behind Thatch's back, wondering why he had felt the need to place himself in front of him. Was he truly under the impression that she was unable to fight for herself? She may not have been at top physical condition, but she could easily take on the man with the axe.

"How about you guys behave yourselves and surrender quietly?" the man growled, clenching his hands around the handle of his weapon.

"Sorry, but I can't do that," Thatch replied, pulling out his two swords, one in each hand. His grip was light, yet secure and correct. Doubtless he knew how to use those swords when it came down to it, despite his cheerful personality.

"We don't have time for this!" she protested, tugging on the back of his shirt. "The rest of the crew are on the move. They'll be here in a second. Just run."

"I won't let you!" the brawny man yelled, swinging his axe straight at them from over his head. Thatch brought up his swords, crossing them over and catching the attack. His feet skid back a tiny bit, the muscles in his arms clenching as they neutralized the forced behind the swing.

"Duck!" she ordered.

"What?" Thatch spluttered, surprised, although he still ducked. The girl was already in the air, bringing her left leg around in an arc, thrusting her foot directly into the opponent's windpipe.

"Argh!" he choked, axe clattering onto the wooden decking as he dropped to his knees, hands clasping at this throat. He started coughing and choking while she landed back on the deck, tugging onto Thatch's sleeve to get him running again.

"I was handling that," Thatch said, stumbling forward as he sheathed his swords again.

"It was taking too long," she replied, already half way across the deck. The noise that was echoing through the ship didn't escape her attention. They didn't have long before the whole crew was on the deck.

"I didn't even get a chance to do anything!" he argued as she reached the side of the boat.

"It still took too long," she answered, leaping up onto the railing. She crouched slightly before pushing off of the railing and jumping into the air, her body twisting around as the wind tugged at her clothing. She waited until the moment her body rotated to the point it was upside-down before she let the transformation take over her body; fur started to spread across her whole body, her bones widening and morphing into new shapes; thin membranes joined her legs together, creating wings on either side of her body; large ears grew on the top of her head, her teeth sharpening and her face growing into a muzzle. The bandages that were around her eyes stayed there, hiding them from sight still.

As this change was taking place, her body had been falling idly towards the water, head first. Moments before she was about to crash, she spread out her wings, letting them fill up with air so that her body was pushed back up into the sky. She was finally free. Now was her chance. She could leave and run right now. She didn't have any obligation to save the man that called himself "Thatch". The logical part of her brain then interrupted and pointed out that she didn't know where she was going. There was no guarantee that she would make it back to land before she passed out. Her body was almost at its limit as things stood. The smartest thing to do would be to take Thatch back to his crew, and ask them for directions to the closest piece of land. It would save her having to wander around until she found land.

"Thatch, jump!" she ordered the Whitebeard Pirate, and he did just that as more doors on the ship started smashing open, people stumbling onto the deck, trying to make sense out of the chaos. She neatly folded her wings against her side, swopping under his falling form so that she could catch him on her back. As he landed on her back, she spread out her wings against, flapping them twice so she vaulted herself up into the air. "Hold on!"

"I'm trying!" he called back over the sound of the wind, his hands grasping at the fur on her back. She countered the awkwardness and unevenness of his weight by beating one wing harder than the other while he settled himself.

"Just don't fall off," she said as he finally settled down. "Stay low and there will be less wind force trying to pull you off."

The sounds of shouting from the boat reached her ears as they scurried around like ants. She simply beat her wings and flew through the air, as her echolocation-net cast itself out to a wider range, bouncing off of the top of the sea. Her best bet would be to head the opposite direction that the ship was currently heading, and to keep her net wide spread wide enough to catch Thatch's ship.

When she noticed that the pirates were loading the cannons back on the ship she warned, "They're going to try and shoot us down. This'll get a bit rough."

As the first cannon was fired, she pulled her wings into her side and dove directly down at the sea, easily dodging the ammo. It crashed into the sea and splattered them with water, but that was the least of her worries. She banked before hitting the water, the tips of her wings brushing against the surface as she pumped her wings again, shooting forward. Another two rounds were fired as they flew away and she pulled her right wing closer to her side, her body being dragged to the right as she did. The cannonball splashed uselessly into the water as she spread her wing out full again, grabbing at wind. The second ball landed behind them, as they sped out of range of the ship

"Are you okay?" Thatch called in worry.

"Of course," she answered, putting some distance between her and the water as the ship shrunk behind them. "We're out of their range now. It may be a while before we find your ship though. What does it look like?"

"Like a… whale," he laughed. "A _big_ whale."

"…I see. It shouldn't be too difficult to spot," she mumbled.

"Are they following us?" Thatch asked, glancing back the way they'd just left.

"No," she replied. "Doubtlessly they're panicking right now, and they'll probably run for the island the captain talked about. I don't he's stupid enough to think that he can catch up to me."

"You're really okay to take me all the way back to my ship?" he asked after a few seconds.

She paused silently, making mental notes of how her body was feeling at the moment. Flying was second nature for her, but she didn't normally have a passenger, or have to carry them as far as Thatch. Adding to the fact she didn't know where his ship was, or how long it would take to get there, she couldn't calculate if she would be able to make it. But, if she didn't, she'd have nowhere to land, and would fall in the sea and they would probably both drown. She wasn't allowed to die, so she was going to have to make it to his ship – there were no ifs or buts about it. "Yes. What time of day is it?"

"What time of day?" he repeated. "About midday."

"Hmm."

"What?"

"Nothing."

* * *

"How'd you even end up on that ship anyway? How long were you there?" Thatch asked out of the blue, breaking the silence that had been hanging for a while.

She didn't reply to start with, her cautious side coming through. Why would he need to know that? What good would it do him? What would it matter if she told him? "I was taken by surprise–"

" –even with that sight of yours?"

"I can't use my echolocation all the time. Even using it for extended periods of times or stretching it out too far gives me headaches. I have to rest it sometimes. Although, generally I do that when I sleep–"

"–so they gassed you when you were asleep?"

"As far as I was told. I fell asleep in a tree, and when I woke up I was in the hold of their ship, chained with seastone. I'm not sure how long I was there, because I didn't have much of a grasp on the flow of time." She paused to think about it, factoring in all the little details. "Judging by the way my body condition has deteriorated though, I would hazard a guess of about a month."

"You didn't try and escape before then?" Thatch asked, throwing more and more questions at her. She was starting to find it hard to keep track of what she had answered and what she hadn't.

"Even if I had escaped, chances are that they would have come after me, and then if they did catch me again, they might have taken more drastic measures to keep me there. I was waiting until I got a chance to disable them all so they couldn't and wouldn't pursue me further. There was nothing that demanded my attention elsewhere," she admitted, making note of the growing aches in her shoulder and wing joints.

"Why'd you break out with me then?"

"Their plan was attack Whitebeard. They were foolish, and would most likely have failed. I was not going to be involved in that trouble. I have no wish to die yet."

Thatch laughed, "You make us sound like bad guys."

"You're pirates. I thought such a view on people like you came with the title," she pointed out.

"Ah, true." He made of a sound of discomfort and stretched his arms above his head, careful not to be blown off. "My muscles are already hurting."

"That does not surprise me," she said. "It will probably only get worse as well. There's no way to stop and let you stretch, so you will have to bear with it. How about you? How did a member of the most notorious pirate crew – a commander at that – managed to get caught by pirates like them?"

"Ahaha, that's a bit embarrassing actually," he laughed again, rubbing the back of his neck. "There was this pretty lady who offered to get a drink with me, and I agreed. I don't know what was put into the drink, but the next thing I know I woke up in the hold with you. The other guys are not going to let me live this one down."

Something up ahead caught her attention and she slowed down slightly as her senses started to investigate it. It was a young man on some sort on small craft, being powered by heat and flames, although she couldn't determine the source of those flames. The man in question was shirtless, displaying a large tattoo on his back – one she recognized as Whitebeard's mark. Other than that, he had a pair of shorts and a hat.

"Something wrong?" Thatch asked when he noticed that she'd slowed down.

"There's someone heading this way," she replied. "A young man, weird hat, shirtless with a tattoo on his back. He's riding what appears to be some sort of small craft powered by heat and flames."

"That's Ace!" Thatch exclaimed in excitement. "Can you take me too him?"

"Okay," she agreed and dropped down lower until she was just over a meter away from the surface of the water. She then headed straight for the person that Thatch apparently knew.

As they drew closer, she noticed that he heard them and stopped his craft, going on the defensive, his eyes scanning in the horizon. As they drew into his line of sight, his eyes widened in surprise.

"Ace!" Thatch yelled out over the ocean.

"Thatch! You're okay?" Ace yelled back, a smile spreading across his face.

The girl slowed down when she got close to Ace and his weird craft, flapping her wings so that she could hover in the air while Thatch talked to Ace.

"What brings you out here?" Thatch asked jokingly.

"I was coming for you! We got a message saying you'd been kidnapped! What the hell happened?" Ace demanded.

"Ahaha, about that…" Thatch laughed and trailed off, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly.

"And what is… _this_?" Ace asked, staring at her.

"This is… Uhh, she doesn't have a name. But she's my friend. She helped me out. Can we go back to the boat before I start explaining?" Thatch asked.

'_Friend?_' she thought to herself. '_Since when?_' She was only helping him because it worked to her benefit as well. She wasn't helping him just because. She wasn't that nice.

"Right. Follow me; they're back this way. They shouldn't be too far away."

* * *

Ace was right. The ship wasn't too far away. It was only a matter of minutes before something passed into her sight-net. Thatch hadn't been kidding when he'd said that the ship was a giant whale. It resembled one very closely with the figurehead the shape of a whale head.

Her attention on the shape of the boat didn't last long before she noticed just how many people were on the boat, instantly putting her on edge. She couldn't count them all, but there'd have to be over 1,000. Not 1,000 ordinary men either. There were even a few women, although they all seemed to be dressed in a medical uniforms. They also seemed built to fight and covered in weapons. In that bunch there were also countless that looked really strong. Not to mention the one enormous man just oozing power even from this distance. The one and only Edward Newgate, commonly referred to as Whitebeard. She started to wonder just what she'd got herself into, and if she'd come out of it.

When the men on the ship caught sight of Ace, Thatch and her, a loud uproar went up on the ship, people calling out Thatch's name and cheering. The loud noise hurt her ears as she flew towards them, causing her to slow down slightly.

"Don't worry, you're with me. They all look rough, but they won't hurt you," Thatch reassured her, mistaking her hesitance and caution for fear. Caution wasn't fear; it was common sense.

"They're awfully loud," she said bluntly.

"It's part of their charm," Thatch replied, a wide grin splitting his face.

"…I don't see how," she mumbled before turning her attention to more important matters. "I'm bad at landings, so if I fly over the deck will you able to jump off?"

"Of course," he replied.

"Get ready," she warned, catching enough air in her wings to vault herself up to the height of the ship's deck, gliding forward and passing over the top of the crews' heads. Thatch neatly slid off her back, and the second he did, she stretched out her wings to their full span and shot off at twice the speed she'd been travelling before. Now that she didn't have the burden of Thatch, she didn't have to worry about having to balance her body and make sure he didn't fall off. She was free to move body however she wanted.

She twisted around in the air, pulling her wings to her sides, her body dropping back down as she flipped and transformed back into her human form. Just as her human form took back over, her bare feet landed firmly on the wooden rail of the lowest sail. Her head spun from the transformation and the sudden deprivation of such a wide sight-net, forcing her to squat down and brace her hand on the rail between her feet. The second she was back in human form, she realized that she really wouldn't have lasted much longer in her bat form before passing out.

There was a hive of activity on the deck with everyone gathering around Thatch, thumping him on the back, or smacking him over the back of head and giving greetings. His crew seemed truly happy to see that he was unharmed. Even Ace jumped back up onto the ship, smiling sheepishly. A few of the men glanced at her, but no one said anything just yet.

Despite all this, her attention was focused mainly on the large wolf among the herd of sheep – the old man sitting back in his chair on the main deck, a bottle of something on his hand. She had very keen instincts – closer to those of and animal than a human, and they were all telling her to watch the old man carefully. She could feel the power and might radiating off of him, and it had the animalistic side of her hissing in defiance.

Whitebeard raised the bottle to his mouth, taking a swig before lowering it and calling, "Thatch."

"Pops," Thatch replied, walking out of the crowd of men to stand before Whitebeard. "I'm sorry for all the trouble I caused."

"Gurarara," he laughed, "I'm just glad to see my son's okay."

"It's mostly thanks to the help I got, right?" he said, turning his head to look at the crouching girl on the sails. "You can come down, you know."

When everyone's attention turned to her, she didn't even hesitate before replying, "No thank you. I'm satisfied with my current position."

"You remember that talk we had about you being bad at communicating with people?" he asked, smirking. "This is bad communication."

"No it's not. It's common sense," she replied and Thatch laughed. She wasn't fooled. Bad communication was saying something that hurt someone's feelings. Bad communication was not talking at all. She was answering his question and had so far be rather forthcoming. How could refusing to leave her perch considered bad communication?

"Where'd you get this one from, Thatch?" a dopey-eyed man with open jacket asked.

Her heart skipped a few beats as her sight-net failed, leaving her in darkness. She'd been so on edge and cautious that she'd failed to notice how weak her body was, and how close it was to failing her. Her legs and arms tingled and felt weak and unable to hold her weight up. The back of her head was thumping from overuse of her sight-net. She felt warmth creep up the back of her shoulder and up her neck, all the blood rushing to her head. She tried to calm her breathing to stop her body from revolting.

"She was o– Hey, are you okay there? You went really pale there–" Thatch called out, but she hardly heard him. Her last desperate attempts to control her body were for naught. The lack of food and water over an extended period of time, in addition to the lack of exercise and the escape had left her running on nothing but will power. After transforming back into a human, her body couldn't cope anymore. Her head was spinning so much that she didn't noticed when she pitched forward off the sail, but she felt the all too familiar feel of air rushing around her, although she wasn't flying this time. Black snagged her and pulled her consciousness under. "OI!"


	4. Living Through Treatment

A drilling pain in the base of her skull woke her up, dragging her mind back from the land of dreams. She clenched her hands from the pain, scrunching a soft material in them as the other pains and aches in her body became obvious. Her arms and legs were sore, and her stomach was aching from hunger. Bile crawled up the back of her throat from the pain of the headache she now had, and her cheeks and face were burning hot. Her world was darkness and pain because she didn't even bother to try and cast her sight-net. She'd over used it, and now her body was recovering from it. If she had tried to use it, she'd have passed out again.

"Are you awake?" a soft female voice asked from beside her.

"I have regained my consciousness, yes," she replied after a short hesitance.

A cool hand brushed the hair away from her face and rested against her forehead. Not being certain how to react to that, she stayed silent and didn't move. The voice chirped, "Your temperature has started to go down. That's always a great start."

She was a little confused as to what was going on, her aching head stopping her from being able to think very clearly. Slowly she remembered what had happened right before she had passed out. She'd fallen off the sail. Her muscles and body ached, but she didn't feel like she had any other external injuries. "I fell from the sail, correct?"

"You did," the voice agreed, drawing away the hand. "Lucky for you, Atmos caught you before you hit the ground."

"…Oh." That was why she didn't have any extra injuries.

"How are you feeling, sweetheart?" the voice asked, and she heard some movement from beside her resting place.

"…Are you a cannibal?" she asked in confusion.

There was dead silence as the movement stopped. There was no reply for a second before the voice said, "P-Pardon?"

"You referred to me as a "Sweet-Heart". I wasn't aware that hearts would taste sweet. Logically they should be tough due to all the muscle tha–" The sound of laughter cut off what she was saying.

"I…" she trailed off and kept laughing, taking a few seconds to calm herself down. "No, no. It's a… nickname I guess. Or a term of endearment."

"A term of endearment? I don't understand how saying that someone's organ is pleasantly tasting can be considered endearing," she replied, getting even more confused when the female burst out laughing again.

"It sounds strange now that you say it like that, I must admit," she said, trying to take calming breathes to quell her giggles. "Have you never been called that before?"

"No, I can't say I have," she replied, starting to clench her fingers to work the stiffness out of them.

"Well I promise you that I am not cannibal, and I am not about to eat your heart. My name's Cecilia and I am a nurse on Whitebeard's ship. I've been looking after you," Cecilia informed her, and she felt the hair over her face being brushed away. "Now that you're awake, I'll go grab the doctor and h–"

"–There's really no need for you to waste your time. I am awake now and I shall be leaving soon, so–"

"No you will not!" Cecilia snapped so suddenly that she went silent. "You're going to sit your ass in that bed and not move until the doctor says you can. If you attempt to leave I will strap you down to the bed and force-feed you until you are well again."

"…" She didn't know how to reply. She was weak. As soon as she got moving she had hoped that she'd start feeling better. She would only waste energy fighting with the nurse.

"Good," Cecilia huffed. "Don't. Move. Understand?"

"…I understand."

"Good. I shall be right back. Remember what I said would happen if you move." With that the footsteps moved away from her bed and out of a door, leaving her in silence.

Finally left on own, she pulled her arms slowly out from under the blanket, stretching them in the air to work out the cramps and aches. She linked her fingers together, bending them back and allowing them all to crack loudly. One arm dropped against her stomach when she was done, the other reaching up to feel her forehead. The skin was warm to touch – warmer than normal – but it wasn't anything too bad. It was just her body's way of coping. Her fingers trailed down her face, brushing over the rough and scared skin around her eyes. She assumed they must have removed the bandages while she was unconscious. Not that it really bothered her. She only kept them covered to stop all the questions and stop drawing attention to herself.

She drew the hand away, letting it drop against her chest with the other as she started to pay attention to all the other sounds around her. She could hear the sound of the ocean clearly, meaning that they were sailing still. There were occasional noises from around the ship as people moved about and talked. It was quieter than she would have expected though, meaning that it was probably night.

After a few moments footsteps started to walk towards the room she was in; two sets of them. The door clicked open and the two people walked in. She stayed silent and still, assuming that it was the doctor and the nurse. The footsteps walked confidently up to her side, and a larger hand was placed on her forehead yet again. "Cecilia said you're awake now."

"I am."

"About time," he huffed and the hand was taken away. "How do you feel?"

"Sore. But that's to be expected," she replied, unsure about telling him too much.

"To be expected? To be bloody expected! You damn Devil Fruit users are going to send me to an early gave!" the doctor snapped.

"…" She didn't know how to respond. Being a doctor and not a fighter, how could he expect Devil Fruit users to be the one to kill him. It didn't make sense. She heard the nurse sigh in the background.

"None of you have any brains," he grumbled as he walked across the room and roughly threw open a drawer, rattling around in it.

"It's impossible for a human body to function without the use of a brain…" she said, but the doctor ignored her as he continued to rant.

"You zoans are the worst though; by far. At least the logias don't get hurt that often and the paramecias feel pain and exhaustion like normal people in most cases. But you zoans, your brains get replaced by that of animal's. You think you're invincible and push your body to extremes. Animal body may be able to handle it, but your human body certainly can't!"

"…" She didn't know what to say, because the doctor was correct. When in the animal form, most zoans couldn't tell how far they were being pushed. The stronger animal body could handle it, but when they turned back human, their body was put under a lot more stress to cope with it.

The doctor slammed the draw closed and stormed back over to her side. "And don't even get me started on your body condition. You're about the size a stick! What the hell have you been eating?"

"I haven't," she replied.

"Zoans! Think you're damn invincible, the damn lot of you!" he cried in exasperation.

"But–"

"I don't want to hear it!" he cut her off, and she closed her mouth. "You were suffering from starvation and dehydration when your unconscious body was dragged in here. Not to the mention the fact you were stupid enough to exhaust yourself by flying halfway across the damn ocean–"

"–That would be impossible."

"You zoans wouldn't think so!" He paused and let out a long sigh. "I have some medicine that will give you some of your strength back. Can you sit up?"

"I can, but the nurse threatened to tie me down to the bed if I moved before I had your permission. Do I have your permission?" she asked, not missing the giggle in the background.

"I have half a bloody mind to tie you down myself, but yes, you do."

She pushed herself up in the bed, allowing the sheets to slip down to her lap. It felt good to be able to move again. "Thank you."

"Here." A gentle but firm hand grabbed her wrist, lifting her hand up and placing a cup into it. "Drink this." She hesitated, wondering if it was really safe to drink something given to her by someone she didn't know. "If you don't drink that I _will_ tie you down and force it down y–" He didn't need to finish his threat before she'd already tipped it down her throat and swallowed.

She started coughing and choking, hunching over, her spare hand going to chest. "That tastes terrible."

"Well now you won't be stupid enough to exhaust yourself so badly again, right?" he huffed. "Because if you do exhaust yourself again, I will force several cups of that down your throat."

"I shall keep that in mind…" she mumbled, wondering what was wrong with the people on this ship. She thought Whitebeard was the one she had cautious about, but who thought it would be smart to have a sadist as a ship doctor?

"Your eyes…" the nurse said in the background, trailing awkwardly off as the doctor took the cup off of her.

"Yes?" she replied.

"Have long have they been like that?" Cecilia asked.

"Several years now. They don't bother me, but I usually wear bandages to avoid drawing attention to them."

"Cecilia can wrap them back up for you. Only her and I have seen your eyes, don't worry. No one else has been allowed in while you were out of it," the Doctor said as he searched another draw for something. "Although Thatch has been slinking around here like a kicked puppy. He blames himself for overexerting you so much."

"It doesn't worry me if people see them. I just it find it easier not to have to answer lots of questions," she replied. "And he shouldn't be blaming himself; that's foolish. I am responsible for my own actions."

"At any rate, he'll be pleased to know that you're awake now," the doctor replied, pulling something out of the cupboard and handing the to Cecilia. "Here are the bandages."

"How long was I asleep?" she asked.

"You arrived here yesterday. You slept through the rest day, the night and the next day. It's late in the second night right now," he said.

"Oh."

"Anyway, I'm going back to sleep. I'll drop by the kitchen and get them to bring you something to eat, then I'm going back to sleep. Are you all right here, Cecilia?"

"Of course," she chirped. "After she's had something to eat she'll probably need another few hours sleep."

"I don't really need anymore–"

"You are going to sleep!" both the doctor and the nurse snapped at the same time, silencing her.

"I gave you permission to sit up, but if you leave this bed before tomorrow, when I come back to check on you, I will track you down and make sure you're unable to move. Ever again. Understand?" the doctor demanded as he walked to the door and opened it.

"…I understand."

"Good."

* * *

"Hmmm," the doctor hummed as he pinched the skin on the back of her hand, watching how long it took to sink back to original position. "Well you're rehydrated now at least. Now we just need to fatten you up. But breakfast should be coming for you soon. Thatch told me about your sight. I would suggest not using your power for a while longer yet. No need to wear yourself before you're fully recovered."

"I understand," she replied, although she certainly felt a lot better. After having something to eat last night, and getting some more sleep her headache had gone away. Her muscles were still sore, but that would go away with use. She should be able to leave soon; whenever they got near land at least.

"I have breakfast for sleeping beauty!" a loud and cheerful voice called as the door to the room swung open. She knew who it was straight away. So did the doctor.

"Thatch," he said calmly. Way too calmly. "If you don't keep your voice down and start treating this room like a sick-room, I am going to organize for you to have your own bed here. And I'll put you there yourself."

"…Sorry, Doc," Thatch laughed sheepishly.

"Whatever," he sighed. "Give her breakfast and then she's all yours. So long as she doesn't use her powers too much for the next few days she'll be fine. You're the one who brought her here, so she's your responsibility. If she ends up back under my care, you will end up here too. And it won't be pleasant. Understand?"

"I understand," he replied.

"Good. Girl, the same thing applies to you too. You end up back here again and I won't be nice next time," the doctor grumbled, walking over to the door.

"You were being nice this time?" she asked in confusion. Maybe he had a different definition than she did. Thatch made a choking sound and the doctor's footsteps stopped.

She heard the doctor pivot slowly around on his feet and walk back towards her. Thatch started to say, "Doc, she didn't mea–"

"–Thatch, shut up," the doctor ordered, and he did so straight away.

She suddenly realized that she had said something that she probably shouldn't have. She sat perfectly still and silent as the doctor walked up to her bedside and stopped.

"Girl."

"Yes?"

He reached out and flicked her square in the forehead with enough force to surprise her. Her hands shot up, covering the spot he had flicked.

"Seeing as I can't really hurt my patients, you'd better pray that you don't end up in my care again," he warned. And with that he turned around and walked towards the door again, leaving her clutching her forehead in confusion.

She opened her mouth, about to tell him that she wasn't religious and didn't pray, but Thatch slapped a hand over her mouth, stopping her from saying anything. The door closed behind the doctor and Thatch dropped his hand, letting out a long sigh.

"Doctor Iwao is as bad tempered as always…" he mumbled. "No wonder he's the head doctor. Everyone is too scared to oppose him.

"…Did I offend him by what I said?" she questioned.

"…Do you really need to ask that question?"

"Yes, I do."

Thatch burst out laughing, leaving her to sit there awkwardly, her hands folded in her lap. She may not have been able to see much, but she sure could hear him. "Everyone seems to be laughing at what I say. I don't understand humor, but I'm certain that what I'm saying isn't funny most of the time," she admitted.

"They're not laughing at what you say, they're laughing at how you say it," Thatch said, reaching over and ruffling the hair on the top of her head. "I'm glad you're doing well. I was a bit surprised when you passed out and fell off the sail. I told you that you should have come down."

"Why?" she mumbled.

"Why, what?" he replied.

"Why are you all looking after me? You have no idea who I am and you still keep me on your ship and treat me," she pointed out, confused about the whole situation.

The side of her bed sunk as Thatch sat down. "You helped me out and you brought me back to my ship. I owe you this much at least. And plus, you don't seem that bad."

"How could you say that? You hardly have enough information about me to make such a deduction," she said.

"I don't need to know anymore about you. I'm going with my gut feeling on this one. You're odd, that's true, but you don't seem like a bad person."

"…That's stupid."

"Maybe," he sighed before placing a bowl in her lap. "Here is your breakfast. You might want to eat it before it gets cold."

"Thank you," she responded as he handed her a spoon. Slowly she ate the food that was offered to her, the only other sound in the room being Thatch's breathing. In the bowl was a basic porridge, but it was more than she was used to.

"Have you thought about a name at all?" he asked after a few moments of silence.

She lowered the spoon and admitted, "No, I haven't. I still don't see the logic behind it."

"Well I do, and you need a name," he replied teasingly.

"I think it's beyond my capabilities to name myself," she pointed out.

"Well, I guess we can fix that up later. There's one more important thing I want you to do before we do anything else," Thatch responded, springing up from the bed. "I want you to meet pops."

"You mean Whitebeard?" she questioned.

"Of course."

She figured it was only reasonable. She was on his ship and it didn't seem like she'd be able to leave anytime soon. She'd have to face the most powerful man in the world in her weakened state. She couldn't even begin to analyses the outcomes in this situation, seeing as there were so many variables. Although, seeing as they'd gone to all this trouble to look after, she doubted they'd kill her right after. It wouldn't make sense.

"Thatch?"

"Yes?"

"Why do you call him 'Pops'? As far as I can tell, you're not related…"

"Whitebeard calls everyone on his crew his sons and daughters. So we call him our father. Most of us don't have a family anymore or didn't have one to start with, so no one complains," he explained in a whimsical voice.

"…You have a big family."

Thatch just laughed.


	5. Living Through Introductions

"Are you able to walk?" Thatch asked as she swung her legs over the side of the bed, standing up. The floor seemed to sway for a second as all the blood rushed to her head, but within seconds she was fine again.

"Of course. I'll follow your footsteps. They give me a pretty good idea of where most things are thanks to the sound of echoes," she replied, carefully curling her toes to stretch them. As normal, her feet were bare, helping her to feel the ground under them so she didn't trip up. Shoes inhibited her ability to stop herself from tripping up, and it dulled her ability to feel the movement of the ground under her. Without the ability to see, the ability to hear and feel were the next two most important senses to her.

"If you say so…" he sounded cautious, but he walked to the door anyway, opening it and walking out. She carefully padded across the wooden flooring, following him out, tracing his footsteps.

Thatch didn't talk the whole time they walked, probably not wanting to impede her hearing. Not that it would have mattered. She could have easily shadow his footsteps while talking. It was second nature to her now after all the training she'd gone through.

She couldn't really tell where in the ship they were, but it was obvious from the sounds that they were walking down some sort of corridor. There were sounds of life all around, and every now and then, they'd make their way past someone. Thatch and the persons or peoples would exchange greetings. Even though she was blind, she could feel their eyes on her and their curiosity. She didn't blame them either. She was surprised they'd been so polite to her so far.

After leading her through several corridors, up a two flights of stairs and through a few more corridors, Thatch finally came to a stop. "We're here," he announced to her before lifting up his hand and knocking on a wooden door. "Pops?"

"Come in," a voice replied. She could feel shivers crawling up her spine at the sound of the voice; everything about it told her to run. No wonder this man was viewed as the strongest man in the world.

Thatch opened a door and walked in without a second thought. The girl on the other hand had second thoughts. And third. And fourth. What was she about to walk into?

"Come in," Thatch called to her, holding open the door as she stepped into the room, noting how big it sounded. She also managed to figure out where Whitebeard was, and she faced her body in that direction, taking a few more steps into the room before stopping and standing stiffly in front of him. Her arms were limp at her sides, her back straight. Thatch closed the door and walked past her and over to Whitebeard. "Here she is. The doctor said she would be fine now, but she's not allowed to use her powers for a few more days."

The girl was suddenly aware how alone she was in the room. Like a mouse in a trap, she'd be led here, and now it was up to her get out.

"What's your name, girl?" Whitebeard asked her all of a sudden.

"I have no name," she replied bluntly.

"Ah," Thatch sighed and she heard him lean against something next to Whitebeard. If she had to guess, she would have guessed it was a cupboard, table or desk. "About that. She tells me that she has no name, and I told her she needed one. Unfortunately… I'm coming up blank."

"I see," Whitebeard replied, his voice rumbling around the room. "None the less, I have to thank you for assisting my son and bringing him back."

She didn't want him to get the wrong idea. "It was the most logical thing to do. He has assisted me as well. I didn't do it for any reason other than it suited me and my situation at the time."

"Gurarara," Whitebeard laughed, the sound echoing across the room. "You have quite a mouth on you, don't you?"

"…" She paused before replying, "I was under the assumption that most humans were born with mouths and retain them throughout their lives. I'm not any different."

"Gurarara!" Whitebeard laughed even louder.

"I told you that you'd like her," Thatch said, amusement in his voice.

"Girl, what were you doing on that ship?" Whitebeard asked and she didn't bother to reply straight away, having heard footsteps coming towards the door. Sure enough, there was a knock on the door. "Come in."

"Marco," Thatch greeted the new person that walked in.

"Pops, Thatch," he replied, walking past her and over to where Whitebeard and Thatch were. She recognized the voice as the droopy-eyed man she'd seen when she'd landed. "I heard that she'd woken up, and you were bringing her to see Pops."

"You're just in time," Thatch replied.

"I was on the ship because the crew presumed that I'd be an assets to them. I'm assuming that Thatch has relayed everything I've told him to you already?" she said.

"He did."

"I wasn't sure if that'd bother you or not…" Thatch muttered self-consciously.

"Not at all. Everything I told you, I told under the assumption that you'd tell others. It makes it easier for me because I don't have to repeat the same story more than once," she answered.

"And how would a small girl like you be an asset?" Marco asked doubtfully. Finally someone with some sense.

She hesitated. If she told them, there was no telling what they'd think. In the end she decided to be blunt and frank. It wasn't as if they couldn't have found the information she was about to tell them. It wouldn't have been all that hard. Most people knew about Professor Markus and his human experiments. He had broken many taboos and was on the same level of famousness as Doctor Vegapunk. "…I've been trained as a weapon in a manner of speaking. I'm an experiment of Professor Markus's. I was trained and raised with the hypothesis that a human without most of the superfluous emotions can become a stronger fighter, and a better solider. It's not surprising that the other pirates knew who I was, and thus tried to capture me. Although it was not surprising, it was foolish on their part."

"An experiment?" Thatch question. "I suppose that would explain a few things…"

"Professor Markus?" Marco asked. "I've heard of him before. Supposedly he used to hire out fighters and hit-men to some of the larger underworld figures. He used to make a lot of money from what I've heard. And enemies too."

"That's correct. Originally his experiments were funded by the World Government, but when he failed to show sufficient results, they dropped their support. He used the money from his hiring out his experiments to continue his experimentations. Plus, it helped his experiments in their development to give them training. It was an advantageous situation for him," the girl answered, noting how quiet Whitebeard was being. He was happily letting these two ask question and listen to the replies. "Even my services were sold when the Professor thought it was needed; thus why it doesn't surprise me that the other pirates came after me."

"I've heard talk that Professor Markus double-crossed the wrong people, and ended up dead," Marco commented. "And the fact that you're talking in past tense helps confirm this."

"Ah…" She thought back to that whole mess. She had suggested against it, but she was only an experiment. She was one of his many toys, even if she was one of his most successful. There was no way he would have listened to her. And look how it ended up. "I have not seen any evidence to support that conclusion that the Professor is dead. I've yet to see a body or body parts. He also told me that he'd come back for me one day. It's been almost 14 months now, and he's not come back yet. I'm assuming that he is no longer alive, but until I see proof of such an event, I cannot rule out the slight possibility that the Professor is still alive."

"I've decided," Whitebeard spoke up all of a sudden, drawing everyone's attention. "You young ones are always in such a hurry, wandering around getting yourselves in trouble. If you have nowhere else to go, join my crew; take the name "Erika" and become my daughter."

It was so sudden and unexpected that she stood there, frozen in time as her brain went over time, trying to figure out what was going on. Join the Whitebeard crew? One of the strongest crews? _Her_? "I'm not quiet sure you understand," she replied. "I belong to Professor Markus. I'm in no position to make decisions myself. I have no feelings of attachment or loyalty like a normal person. I'm a weapon, not a person. I'm not suited to join any crew, or to trust my own judgments around others. I have one purpose in life; to obey the orders of Professor Markus."

"Gurarara," he laughed. "I'm no fool, child. I know what and who you are. Being a pirate means obeying no one's rules. Everyone on this ship has their pasts and their stories, and yet they're my family all the same; I don't care about your past. Also, I trust my son's judgments. He's spoken to me about you."

So this was partly Thatch's doing as well. Figures. He was too soft for his own good.

"We won't take no for an answer, _Erika_," Thatch said and she could clearly hear the sound of enjoyment and satisfaction in his voice.

Marco sighed in exasperation, "If Pops says he wants you in the crew, it's easier to just say yes. Almost no one gets away with saying no."

"…I refuse," she declared, adamant that she would not be joining. "I'm thankful for your assistance and letting me stay on your ship, and if you want repayment for your services, I'm sure we can work something out. But, I am not joining your crew."

"You helped my son; we need no repayment from you," Whitebeard said, his voice a lot sterner now. It wasn't threatening or angry, just firm.

"We're trailing the pirates who kidnapped me and following them to the island they were talking about. It'll probably still be longer before we reach land, and you can't use your powers and fly away," Thatch pointed out. "You're stuck on this boat for a while yet."

"…I see," she replied.

"You're welcome on the Moby Dick until then, child," Whitebeard rumbled. "Don't make your decision yet. You have a several days to decide."

"The chances of me changing my mind are very slim," she pointed out.

"We'll see," Whitebeard, the strongest pirate in the world, replied, leaving her to wonder whom out of the two of them would be correct. Power wasn't always synonymous with intellect, was it?

* * *

"What now, _Erika_?" Thatch asked as they stepped out of Whitebeard's room, the door closing behind them.

Whitebeard had not been what she'd thought at all. Despite his reputation and aura, he seemed like a… _Fool_. As much of a fool as Thatch. They both had that soft side to them; the side that made them weak. Asking her of all people to join their crew? She'd heard a lot of people say stupid things before, or ask her stupid things, but that almost topped it. _Almost_. Human stupidity never ceased to amaze her.

"…I'm not overly bothered. I'm a guest on your ship until I find the opportunity to leave. It doesn't matter what I do now," she replied, still distracted as she thought over the meeting she'd just had.

"How about we go on the deck and get some fresh air?" he suggested and she nodded her head, only half listening. "It's this way."

"Thatch?" she asked as they walked.

"Yes?" he replied.

"Why are you chasing the pirates that captured you? They hardly pose a threat to you considering the strength of this crew and you were told about there being a trap. It's unlikely that they'll try to kidnap one of your members again, and even if they do, you'll know who they are this time. Their trap could also be dangerous. What benefit is there to you chasing them?"

He sighed as they walked. "I told Pops and the others that they didn't have to worry about it, but this crew… As pops said, we're all family. We don't stand by while one of our number gets hurt. Generally no one gets away with an attack on any of us, and this is just one of those cases. If it were someone else put in the position I was in, I'd want to pay the pirates back for my friend. Do you not want revenge on them for what they did to you?"

"Revenge?" she repeated, curious of his use of that word. "I see no benefit to it. So long as they don't come after me again, I'm not going to concern myself with them. If I tried to get revenge, would it not only generate the opportunity for there to be more revenge? If any action that is considered to be malicious generates the possibility for there to be revenge, it would only create a cycle of consequence that would benefit neither group. Revenge is driven by hurt, anger or sadness though. I don't really understand those emotions, so maybe that's why I seek no revenge."

"Even when they treated you like that, you don't even feel the tiniest bit of hatred or dislike for them?" he asked, sounding astonished.

"No," she replied, not sure what part of that he didn't understand. It wasn't that hard to understand, was it?

"I see... Anyway, here we are. It'll probably be busy out here, is that okay with you?" Thatch asked, pausing at the door.

"You're crew is so large and numerous that no matter where I am, there will probably be people around or in close vicinity to me. It's an inevitable situation, so there's really no use concerning yourself with it," the girl said. She could already hear the sounds of life on the other side of the door. There were lots of voices talking, people moving and numerous other activities going on out on the deck.

Thatch opened the door, allowing a wave of voices and sounds to wash over her, along with the unfiltered smell of the sea. As they stepped out into the open, she felt warmth on her skin, meaning that it was still day and the sun was out. The feel of the sun was one of the only ways she had to tell time. Her echolocation didn't reach far enough into the sky for her to be able to tell, and her sense of time was distorted, so she relied on feel and the observations and behaviors of those around her to be able to tell time and weather. Although, she could normally only tell when it was day if there were little or no clouds.

She held up one of her hands, palm facing the sky so that she could feel the sun's rays. "No clouds in the sky right now?" she asked Thatch. If she knew the feeling of the sun without clouds on any particular day, it would simple for her to pick up when clouds came, or when something changed.

"Huh?" he replied, seemingly confused for a few seconds before it slowly sunk in. "Oh. No, no clouds."

"The weather in the New World is so unpredictable I usually use my echolocation to monitor the pressure changes in the air and wind, and the humidity and dew-point to be to read it," she explained.

"I don't know all that much about the weather. We have some really good navigators on the ship who monitor that for us. The Moby Dick is pretty sturdy as well and not much manages to damage the ship. You don't need to worry about anything like that," Thatch said, walking across the decking and up a staircase.

"I'm not worried," she replied, shadowing his steps and wondering if she should have asked him after all. "It's just observations so that I'm aware of my surroundings."

"Hey, Thatch!" someone called out as they reached the top of the stairs. "Your little stray's awake?"

'_Stray?_'

"Blenheim!" Thatch greeted jovially, walking over to the person that the voice came from. "Yeah, she's awake and the doc's let her go."

"Doctor Iwao? I'm surprise she came out in one piece," Blenheim laughed as she walked over next to Thatch. She stood next to him, her hands by her side and her face impassive. She wasn't all that busy listening to them; more interested in the conversations going on around of. A few of them were even whispering about her, not knowing that she could clearly hear them.

"She almost didn't," Thatch snorted. "I fear for her life if she is ever put in his care again."

"It was not my intention to upset Doctor Iwao," she spoke up. "I was not aware that my question would offended him so much. He didn't seem too keen on Zoan Devil Fruit users either. Is there many other Zoan users here?"

"Doctor Iwao doesn't like much, kid," Blenheim addressed her. "Don't let it worry you."

"Marco's a Zoan user. Although his Zoan is Mythical type," Thatch explained.

"Marco? He's the one with the droopy eyes? And the one that I talked to before, right?" she questioned. A Mythical Zoan Devil Fruit. She'd heard about it. Marco the Phoenix. He could also fly like her. Who hadn't heard of Whitebeard's second in command?

"Droopy eyes?" both of the males roared with laughter, causing most of the conversations around them to stop as they drew attention. "Marco would love to hear that!"

"So… You talked with Pops then?" Blenheim asked, curiosity highlighting his voice. She could feel his eyes on her as well. "How'd that go?"

She was starting to wonder if she was the last one to know that Whitebeard was going to ask her to join. Just what had Thatch been telling these people about her? From the apparent impression they'd gotten about her, it was probably the wrong sort of stuff. She decided to speak up for herself. "I refused."

Thatch sighed. "Pops asked her to join and she refused."

"We all know how well refusing works," Blenheim pointed out.

"That's why he's giving her time to decide. That's why it's our job to make her decide to join!" Thatch declared, and she felt him reach over and ruffle the hair on the top of her head. "It shouldn't be too hard, right?"

"Is it necessary to touch me?" she asked coolly. "I thank you for the offer, but I'm not joining you."

"We'll see," Blenheim quoted Whitebeard, amused by the whole situation. He hadn't been around when Whitebeard had said that, so she had to wonder if it was it really that common for people to change their minds? Did they do something to people who refused to join at first? Were they going to try and force her to join? She'd like to see them try. She highly doubted that they'd managed to forcefully make her change her mind.


	6. Living Through a Spar

_'Why would they want me, of all people, to join them?_' she thought to herself, taking a deep breath as the salty tasting air filled her lungs. The sea always seemed to make everything taste and smell salty. Even licking her lips drew out the flavor of the salt that had settled there.

The sounds around the ship had almost all died out, most people having retired to bed. There were only a few people left on the deck with her, but they were leaving her alone. Thatch had spent the rest of the day dragging her around with him and trying to get her involved with conversations. When she only gave blunt answers that left no room for reply, he soon gave up and let her hang back from everyone. Even at the evening meal she had grabbed something to eat and took it back up on deck to eat it. She was cautious of anyone else getting the wrong idea about her like Thatch had. Friends weren't want she wanted. She had no need of them.

'_You're asking yourself the wrong question_,' another part of her mind pointed out, causing her head to tilt to the side. Her brows furrowed when she realized that she so far had been very biased towards the idea. That man – Whitebeard – made her so nervous she was being more cautious than analytical.

Thinking it through clearly, she started plotting out all the pros and cons to every action that could be taken within this situation; the main two being joining or not joining.

Joining would force her to follow someone's orders – someone who wasn't Professor Markus. That idea was not very appealing to her. Too much confusion. No one can truly serve more than one person at a time in case the interests of both parties happen to clash at some stage.

But Professor Markus was no longer around. Dead? Maybe. Alive? Maybe. That was the question she'd been faced with for the past 14 months. What was she to believe? If he was dead, his orders would be null and void. If he was still alive, his orders still withstood.

Siding with the Whitebeard pirates may offer her some sort of protection. She wouldn't have to go days on end without eating. She wouldn't have to buy her way onto dodgy ships where she slept on the deck just so she could get around and keep people off her trail. She wouldn't have to worry about guarding herself in her sleep to make sure no one kidnapped her again.

At the same time, being part of a crew of a yonko could draw more danger towards her. It was not uncommon for yonkos to be challenged by pirates hoping to win the title for themselves. Whitebeard, being probably the strongest among them, become a more popular target for egotistic fools to challenge.

She curled her toes as she thought, shuffling ever so slightly to adjust her weight as she perched on the railing of the ship, facing the sea. Her legs hung over the sea, the cool night air brushing past them. This situation was something that she really needed more information on before she could come to a reliable conclusion.

"Shouldn't you be asleep by now?" Cecillia asked as she walked over to the girl.

"Not necessarily," she replied. "I was not aware I had a curfew."

"You don't… Anyway, what are you doing?"

"I was just thinking."

"You must do that a lot," the nurse accused, leaning against the side of the side of the boat next to her. "I've heard a little whisper going around the ship today…"

"Regarding?"

"Oh, just a little conversation you had with our captain today."

This _again_. "I refused."

"Oh, I'm well aware of that, sweetheart," Cecillia said before sighing softly. "Might I ask…"

"Why?"

"Yeah…" She quickly corrected herself and blurted, "You don't have to answer if you don't want, of course."

"It doesn't bother me. You're free to ask me any question that you wish," the younger girl said, straightening her head so that it wasn't tilted anymore. "I don't belong here."

The nurse snorted and replied, "I think a lot of people on this ship don't belong anywhere else but here. Most of us don't have homes, families or places to live. This is the one place we do belong. It's odd that you'd say the opposite. If you don't belong here, where do you belong?"

Where didshe belong? There was a pregnant pause as she thought over the question. Mayhap the two of them were using the two alternate definitions of the word "belong". The nurse was using the word "belong" synonymous with an organization, group, race or any other assemblage. The girl, on the other hand, was using the word with the defining definition being tied to being property of, or under the ownership, of another or others.

"I belong to Professor Markus," she answered after a while.

It was the nurse's turn to pause before proposing a question. "You're human, right?"

"I am."

"Then you belong to no one!" the nurse snapped and the girl heard her clench her fists by her side. "Humans are never property of another! Never!"

The rest of the deck had fallen silent, listening into their conversation. Cecillia had been loud enough to draw all their attention.

"Never?" she questioned, wondering is the nurse recognized the finality of using such a word. "But it happens quite often. The slave market is quit a large business –"

"_We_ are not property!" she interrupted. "Not me, not you. The slave trade is disgusting, and breeches so many basic human morals. They chain us, mark our bodies and claim ownership over us, but the one thing they can't own is our will. We are always free to do as we will. What they do to your physical body means nothing."

'_Ah._' It finally clicked why the nurse was probably so passionate about this topic. But that didn't mean that she agreed with the nurse's point of view.

"…What the hell are you lot looking at!" Cecilla snapped and there was an awkward cough before the quiet conversation on the deck started up again.

"I recognize the validity of your opinion, but I cannot agree with it," she said.

"…You truly believe yourself to be the property of another?" the nurse questioned softly.

"I do," she replied without hesitation. She didn't see the problem with it. Do parents not claim their children? Do humans not claim animals as their pets? Do some men not claim women as their wife? Ownership was part of being human. She didn't understand how some forms of ownership could be considered morally correct, and not others.

"That's… Sad," Cecillia mumbled.

"I don't think so. I don't see the problem."

"No, I don't suppose you do…" The nurse let out a long sigh and pushed off the railing. "You should probably go to sleep. Your body is still recovering, even if your mind is fine. You'll be sleeping in one of the nurse's quarters with some of the other girls."

"Thatch did mention that," she said, swinging her legs back over. "I don't actually require an allocated area or bed to sleep in. I'm able to sleep on the deck so that I avoid causing trouble–"

"You're sleeping with us."

"…" It was a statement, not a question. She had no way to reply to it.

"Come on, I'll take you there now. I was just heading off to bed myself. Staying up to look after you has messed up my sleeping schedule, so I'm still trying to adjust to it," she admitted.

The girl slipped down off the railing, landing neatly on her feet. The nurse reached forward and grabbed her elbow, gently guiding her forward.

"I'm capable of walking on my own," she proclaimed.

"This makes me feel better, so do it for my sake?" the nurse asked sweetly.

"…Okay," she conceded. It took no effort on her part to do something for nurse, so there was no reason she shouldn't. What and odd way to do something for someone though.

"See, if only you were that agreeable to the captain," Cecillia teased as she led her down a flight of stairs.

"That's different. There are many different circumstances there," the girl explained, her bare feet tapping against the wooden flooring. The nurse's own shoes made a clicking sound in contrast.

"You know you won't regret it if you say "yes", right?" Cecillia sighed, using her elbow to guide her around a corner.

"I don't know that, no. How could I?" she questioned in confusion. She didn't have the correct information to come to such an irrefutable conclusion. Did Cecillia know something she didn't?

"If you trusted me, then you'd know."

"But I don't trust you," she pointed out. "How can I? I hardly know you, and even then, trust is such a flimsy cognitive illusion. There is no use for such an unstable delusion. When I need to understand someone's reasoning, and how that's going to effect me, I just look at the factors effecting their actions. There is always a reason behind everything. Even if people are not aware of it themselves. I don't need trust to measure someone. I do that for myself with careful analysis."

"I see," Cecillia laughed. "What was it you said early? "I recognize the validity of your opinion, but I cannot agree with it"?"

"Yes, that is what I said," she confirmed.

"Then that's my reply to you."

"I see."

"Oh, look, we're here," the nurse said all of a sudden, pausing. "The others are probably asleep, so we have to be quite. You'll be sleeping on the bunk above mine, okay? Normally no one sleeps there, but I'm making a special exception for you."

She nodded and Cecillia pushed the door open and led her inside. She could hear the breathing of other's in the room, and some soft snoring too. It sounded like there were only two others though. The nurse guided her across the room and placed her hand on a ladder. Without out needing to be told anything, she scrambled up the ladder and onto the bed. She sat on the bed, legs crossed, listening as Cecillia got herself settled.

The young girl wasn't all that impressed with sleeping on soft surfaces like beds. She'd never used them that often, choosing to nap in safety rather than comfort. When on assignment, she had never bothered finding a bed to sleep in; she'd wedge herself into a small crack, or behind something and slept there. The only reason she'd slept on the bed in the infirmary was because she was drugged and tired. Sleeping in a bed had been the least of her worries.

Thinking for a few moments, she grabbed the edges of the blanket, twisting it around herself and she backed into the corner of the bed. She curled herself into a ball, nesting inside the tangle of the blanket. Once settled down, it didn't take her long to drift off to sleep.

* * *

The bare point of her heel connected roughly with the straw filled dummy, the rough surface of the mesh bag grating against her skin. Light as a feather, she spun around, switching feet neatly, the arch of her foot connecting where a normal person's temple would have been.

"You're not half bad," a soft voice complemented from behind her. It was the man who had introduced himself as Jiru and led her to the training room. After waking up before the nurses, she'd slipped out of the room and ended up running into him in the corridor. Feeling a need to stretch, she'd asked him if they had somewhere to train. Happily, he showed here to the area – their training room. Rather than leaving, he had leant up against a wall, watching her like a hawk. "Pretty fast, if I do say so myself."

"My speed is my strong point," she agreed, landing a barrage of kicks to vital parts of the dummy. After running her hands over it once, she'd mapped it out in her head, and all the blows were connecting exactly where they should have. "My strength, on the other hand, is not good. My small frame aids with my speed, but it hinders the amount of strength I can congregate in each blow."

"Still, strength isn't everything. I'd rather speed over strength," he said in a polite and unobtrusive manner that seemed to suit him.

Her feet slid easily across the wooden floors, her body dancing around the dummy, stretching all her muscles as she tried out her moves. "If it fits the current situation, then yes, speed is very helpful. Although, in close combat situations, strength can be beneficial. One just needs to weigh up the strength of their opposition, and how best to beat them."

"But if you're facing an opponent that is physically strong, isn't it better to be able to dodge that person's attack?" he asked.

She paused before answering this time, her body slipping into a routine, moving without needing her concentration. The way he had asked his question made it sound like they were having an intellectual debate. It'd been a while since she'd been able to have one of those. "That may be so, but strength can be used for both defense and offence. You may be able to dodge the attacks, but you may not be able to land a debilitating blow on your foe. In such a case, one could only hope to be stronger than their foe, or to find their foe's weakness."

"And I guess that's where true strength comes in; being able to figure out how to beat your enemy," Jiru concluded.

"Exactly," she agreed, stopping her attacks and straightening herself up. She'd warmed herself up enough. She wanted to work her physical condition back up after being confined on a ship for an extended period of time. Without the exercises she'd forced herself to do, she would have been in worse physical condition. At least her body remembered all her moves and everything that she had learnt.

"Want to spar?" he asked all of a sudden, drawing her full attention.

"Elaborate?" she requested, wanting more information before agreeing. She wasn't exactly their friend. She had to keep her guard up. There was too much risk in letting them get used to the manner in which she fought. Running through basic drills was a lot different than being actively involved in a fight. Fighting gave away a lot more information.

"Just a friendly match, so both of us can stretch and get some exercise," Jiru explained. "We normally use shinai so that we don't destroy the training room."

Yes, shinai. The wooden, and safe, equivalent of katana. A smart idea. Using sharp blades and weapons in here would easily tear up the room, and the ship, knowing the reputation this crew held for their strength. "If I'm using weapons in a fight, I normally use two tanto."

"I normally use my lance and shield, so we'll both be at a disadvantage."

"…Okay, I agree," she replied, not seeing the harm in it. She wouldn't give too much away while using a weapon that she was not accustomed too, and her lack of eyesight limited her abilities. Thankfully the room was enclosed enough for her to make out a wide range of noises so she could monitor him. She just had to hope his movements weren't as soft and quiet as his voice and mannerism.

"Here, use two shinai," Jiru said, walking to a chest and pulling out the said shinai. She heard them whistling through the air, catching one in each hand. He pulled one out for himself and the chest lid closed with a loud crack. She followed his footsteps as he walked over to other side of the room so that he was opposite her, shoes shuffling against the wooden ground as he got into position.

The girl took a few steps away from the dummy, adjusting her grip on the two shinai. She wrapped all her fingers around the bottom of the wooden stick in her left hand, using a _hammer_ grip. By using a grip like this, she could use the left blade to block attacks and make sure it didn't get hit out of her hands from heavy-handed blows. For her right hand, her fingers went around the hilt, but her thumb laid itself across the spine of the shinai. A _Filipino grip_; used to put more pressure in the tip of a blade and to help control it. With shinai instead of tanto, her grips felt odd and out of place, but she shrugged it off, slipping into a defensive position.

"Ready?" he asked.

"I am ready," she confirmed, nodding her head ever so slightly.

"Here I come," he warned moments before she heard the rustle of his clothes. She had expected to hear his shinai whistling through the air as he swung it, but all she heard was his clothes and body moving. The speed in which he closed the distance between them shocked her; one second he was the other side of the room, and the next second he was before her. The rush of air was all the warning she had to move herself out of the road, leaning to the side as the tip of padded shinai was thrust towards her body.

When he had been talking about speed previously, it appeared that he must have been speaking from personal experience. Like her, speed seemed to be his weapon. That didn't weigh up in her favor. Neither did the way he wielded his shinai. He had mentioned before about his normal choice of weapons, a shield and a lance, and it seemed that he was using his training stick as a lance rather than a sword. Thrusts didn't not generate as much sound or warning as swings did, and in her current blind state, that left her in an awkward position.

The shinai in her left hand zapped up, catching his blade across the bottom and redirecting the thrust up. Her right shinai drove itself towards his stomach as her body twisted to face him again. In a flash he was gone again, leaving her attack to meet with air, her left shinai gliding back down to protect her chest.

"A quick reaction," he mumbled from behind her causing her to twirl around, pivoting on the balls of her feet. A forward attack would be her best chance, she figured, launching herself towards the voice. Her right shinai swept in from the side and she heard him lean back far enough for it just miss him stomach. The sweeping motion caused her torso to also turn to the side – something that Jiru quickly took advantage off. A thrust to the side of knees was enough to drop her, allowing her to roll forward, over her shoulder and use her left shinai to smack aside another thrust as she laid on her back. Her two feet shot forward, smacking into either side of his hips with enough force to push him back. Wasting no time, she was back on her feet, her wooden sticks ready.

"You're speed is remarkable," she pointed out, wondering how their speeds would match up if they were both at full power. With it being only a spar, she was sure that he wasn't using his full power. And without her sight-net and other strengths, she wasn't using her full power either. She didn't care if she was the one getting beaten in this spar, so long as she didn't give away too much information about herself, she was happy.

Before they could do anything else, someone opened the door and walked in, interrupting them. "Sorry to intrude, but it's time for breakfast. Miss it and you'll both be going hungry."

By the tone of the voice she knew it was Marco. Who knew how long he had been watching. What was he playing at by revealing himself? Not that she didn't fully understand. A stranger on his ship was enough to cause anyone to be slightly cautious. Add that to the fact that she was also dangerous in her own way. But if he was going to watch her closely, shouldn't he have been more covert about it?

"We can continue this at a later date if you like," Jiru said, and she nodded, saying nothing.


End file.
